


YULETIDE TALES 2005: "(NOT) THE TW(ELF) DAYS OF YULE"

by erestor



Series: YULETIDE TALES [3]
Category: Adventure - Fandom, Humor - Fandom, Romance - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Gen, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erestor/pseuds/erestor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuletide tales for my two series "Glorfindel Lion-heart" and "The most boring life of Master Erestor of Rivendell". You will read about the deeds of our heroes in the future, and about their past. But no matter how different these tales might be, they have one thing in common: love.</p><p>Day 1: Oropher's first Yule in Greenwood the Great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. YULETIDE TALES, DAY 1: Glorfindel Lion-heart: 1/4 - "The Dancing Queen"

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Eveiya

"There will be heavy snowfall tonight, my king," the advisor said, gesturing to the clear, blue winter sky. "I had better go and see to it that we have enough firewood for the coming weeks."

Oropher looked doubtfully at the tall, black-haired Elf beside him, who went by the odd name of Sloe.

"Snow? But the weather is excellent, the sun is shining. How can you know there will be snow? Can you sniff it in the air?" he added jokingly.

Sloe nodded, and arched an eyebrow at his king.

"Of course. Every Elf can."

He was very tempted to add 'every real Elf'. In his opinion, making Oropher, a noble Sinda from Doriath, the king of Greenwood the Great, had been about the most idiotic thing the clan council had ever come up with, being topped only by allowing females to join the guards.

But despite this, he did not want to embarrass his new king. One could probably not expect a Sinda to remember the old ways. Sloe was actually surprised Oropher had not managed to get lost in the woods or fall in a swamp yet. Well, he had only been here for three months; there was still hope.

But still Oropher blushed, sensing the other's disapproval.

"Do what you think is needed, Sloe," he said. "If there should be anything that I can do, please let me know."

Sloe nodded briefly, then left to make arrangements for the firewood. Oropher scratched his head.

"He sniffed it. Amazing."

"Yes, very much so. He sniffs snow, calls himself Sloe, and we live in a cave. Life is full of wonders."

Oropher turned to his wife, who stood beside him outside of the Great Cave. She held a large, fur-covered bundle, gently rocking it in the vain hope that their first-born would fall asleep soon. The Elfling was very keen on standing on his own feet. Alas, his parents were worried to let him run around outside at the moment. The winter here in Greenwood the Great might be dangerous for the little one. She tucked in the furs even closer, and only a pair of clear blue eyes and a tuft of golden hair could be seen underneath them.

"I hear sarcasm, my beloved. One could almost think that you do not enjoy our new home." Oropher had reached his wife and put an arm around her shoulder, winking at her in amusement. Then he reached out to stroke lovingly one of his son's tiny ears.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Sarcasm? Me? Never! And if you are so fond of the names here, I suggest we adjust to the local customs of the Avari and call our son 'Birchtree' or 'Greenleaf'."

Oropher laughed.

"I think he will be just fine with 'Thranduil'. Much as I respect the people here, I would not want a 'Greenleaf' in my family. Greenleaf of Greenwood - ridiculous!"

The child began to move and protest upon hearing his name, trying to struggle free from his mother.

"Now see what you have done! He is all wound up!" the queen accused her husband, continuing to try and calm her son.

"No, he is nauseous from all the rocking," Oropher grinned, and hurried to move away as his wife attempted to whack him.

"Now please be gentle, dear wife! This is not the right Yule spirit! Peace and love, remember?" he laughed.

"Oh yes, Yule, how good that you mention it. You are aware we are celebrating our first Yule here in Greenwood in a cave, yes? What about the Yule tree?"

Oropher cocked his head.

"What has the tree to do with the cave? I promised you the most beautiful Yule tree of them all, and I keep my promises. I shall go out first thing tomorrow morning and find you a tree so beautiful that all the trees before in Doriath will fade into nothingness."

A shadow fell over her face.

"I miss my home," she said simply, staring down at her tiny son. "I miss our beautiful, beautiful home. I dread sitting here in these caves on Yule evening and realising that we made a horrible mistake."

Oropher came to stand behind her and put his arms around his wife, pulling her close. He rested his head on her shoulder and nodded.

"I miss Doriath too, beloved. And yes, these caves here are not Menegroth. But our home is no more. The people of these woods are different from us, with their wild and rebellious ways. But they are good folks, and they have made me their king. This is our home now, they are our people, and in time, we will come to understand and love them."

She patted his hand, and swallowed hard.

"You are right, as usual. Forgive me. I know we have found a good place to live here, and who knows, in a couple of millennia I might take to their customs, learn how to use bow and arrow, and should we ever have twins, I shall call them 'Greenleaf' and 'Mushroom'."

He laughed and kissed her neck.

"I am most pleased to hear that. So I suppose you have no reservations about my having large pictures stitched in my skin and riding through the wood without a shirt on, as is a custom here..."

She elbowed him in the side and he yelped. This made Thranduil giggle in his furs.

"Do not dare, Oropher! I can live with the odd custom of carrying ornaments on the skin, but the only one to see you without a shirt is me, be it in Doriath or in Greenwood the Great!"

"Your wish is my order," he grinned. "I would not dare to risk letting the people here lose their king as fast as they found him."

Sloe, who was still within hearing distance of the couple, snorted.

"Sindar," he muttered, and rolled his eyes.

* * *  
Oropher found that the Great Cave had been snowed in overnight. A snowstorm roared outside, and he was grateful that Sloe had arranged for more firewood the previous day. His plan to go out into the woods and find a Yule tree for his wife had been foiled. Sloe looked at him as if he had lost his mind when he brought up the matter.

"My king, you cannot leave the Great Cave! Not for at least three days, for that is how long this snowstorm is going to continue! We are lucky that all the guests arrived for the feast yesterday. You cannot go outside, it is too dangerous."

Oropher paced up and down, hands clasped behind his back.

"I am an Elf. I am impervious to cold and snowfall," he protested.

"There are wild beasts out in the wood. I would hate to see 'frozen king' on their menu."

Oropher was not willing to give in yet.

"But I promised the queen that she will have a Yule tree!"

Sloe shrugged his shoulders.

"If you insist on a heroic deed to impress your wife, I can arrange for someone to bring you a shovel. If you start digging today, you will be out in the wood by March."

Oropher stopped his pacing.

"You are a very sarcastic lot here, my dear Sloe. I fear for my son when the day comes that you will be his tutor."

"Do not fear, my king. Your son is a Sinda, after all. No matter what I try, the best he will be able to come up with is mild irony. And if you do not wish for me to fetch the shovel now, I would be grateful if we could go through your speech for tomorrow's feast."

* * *

"This surpasses all my expectations," the queen whispered in her husband's ear, and Oropher nodded. He had prepared for a small feast with the heads of the various clans in Greenwood, and now he sat right in the middle of a feast of such splendour that he felt rather intimidated. The roof of the large hall was covered with rock crystals, which reflected and broke the light of the torches into millions of rainbows. The tables bent under the load of food and drinks, and everywhere Elves were laughing, chatting, or dancing to the tunes of the minstrels. Some jaunty Elves were even dancing on the tables, a thing unheard of in Doriath!

"I am most pleased that you approve of the way we celebrate Yule," Sloe said, and bit in an apple. "I was already worried that our customs might not be... sophisticated enough for you."

"You hear the coughing of the bed bugs, now do you not?" the queen said tartly, not overly pleased Sloe had overheard her comments to Oropher.

Sloe, undisturbed in his meal, shrugged his shoulders.

"Sometimes."

Thranduil sat on his mother's lap, and just when the queen opened her mouth for a sharp rebuttal, he threw a spoon full of apple sauce in Sloe's direction. The sticky food landed right in the middle of the advisor's chest.

Sloe glared at the child, then reached out for a napkin to wipe off the sauce from his jerkin.

"Oh, my apologies - please do not be angry with my son," the queen purred. "We are only poor, uneducated folk from Doriath, and our ways will probably look rather unpolished to you."

Sloe gnashed his teeth.

"You do not look unpolished at all, my queen," he said. "On the contrary - I almost fear that you are too sophisticated to truly feel at home here."

The queen sat up straight.

"Too sophisticated? What do you mean by that?"

Oropher made signs to let Sloe know that arguing with the queen might be harmful to his health, but the advisor ignored him.

"I mean by that, my queen, that you are a wee bit too... uptight."

"Uptight?" she croaked, and Oropher sank deep into his seat. "Uptight?"

Sloe bowed his head.

"Uptight, my queen - with all due respect, of course."

"I show you how uptight I am, you smug little goblin!"

With that, she stood up and sat her son down in her chair, climbed on the table and began to dance. It was a wild dance, with lots of swinging hips, and more than once, a good part of her perfectly shaped legs became visible.

Both advisor and king stared at her open-mouthed, while the guests, after an initial moment of shock, broke out in loud cheers.

"By the forest spirits," Sloe gasped once he was able to build complete sentences again.

"Indeed - and she is all mine!" Oropher added happily. "Please excuse me, my duties are calling me."

With that, he joined his wife on the table.

Sloe turned to Thranduil.

"Look at this, Thranduil, and memorise it well. For many, many years to come, the Elves of Greenwood the Great will talk about the memorable Yule feast when your parents were dancing on the table in the Great Hall. And for even more years, you will be terribly, terribly embarrassed by that tale."

Thranduil giggled and, as Sloe wasn't paying attention, he pelted the advisor with another spoonful of apple sauce. Sloe stared at the smiling face of the Elfling, then he filled a spoon with pudding and returned the favour. Thranduil shrieked with delight when the dessert got stuck in his hair.

"I think this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship, young Thranduil," Sloe said.

And it was.


	2. YULETIDE TALES, DAY 2: Glorfindel Lion-heart: 2/4 - "The Missing King"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Battle of the Last Alliance, the Elves of Mirkwood are mourning, and it seems they all have lost hope. All but one Elfling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Eveiya

"Please come away from the window, Erestor. It is far too cold there. Here, sit by the fire to get warm."

"No, nana, I wait for ada," Erestor said stubbornly, and pressed his nose to the cold glass of the window, steaming it with his warm breath.

Erestor's mother did not have the heart to tell the Elfling that his wait would be in vain. The outcome of the battle had been disastrous for the Elves of Mirkwood. Victory - yes, but at what price! Their good king dead, and his son lost as well! It had been a sad little group that had returned from the battle, battered and bruised, and in many families, wives and children had waited in vain for their fathers, sons and brothers.

Her husband had not returned, either. And there was not even a body to burn on a pyre, not even the chance for a proper farewell. She felt it would have been easier for her to mourn if there had been something... just anything to make this more real. All that kept her going was her son and the hope for a reunion in Valinor one day. And now they would have to face the first Yule without husband and father. She bit her lip to force back the tears. There was no point in upsetting Erestor now.

Preparations for Yule had been made only half-heartedly, anyway. There had been too many losses, too much grief. And it was not only the war - already the heads of various clans were beginning to argue who of them, with Thranduil gone, should take over Oropher's duties. It was only a matter of time before the arguments would turn violent.

It was a dark time. But while she grieved terribly over the loss of her husband, seeing her child's pain was worse than anything. Sloe had been by Oropher's side, as usual, and so, when the king had been lost, he was lost, too. But while she had tried to break this sad news to her son several times, Erestor simply refused to believe that his father was dead. This silent vigilance of her son by the window, day after day, was terrible to see.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Please enter," she said, and when the door opened, she saw the youth who was the newly appointed chief-advisor to the queen. If it had not been so sad, she would have laughed. Some years ago, he would have been considered still an Elfling, not fit to speak among the elders, and now... it was almost only Elflings who were left in Mirkwood. Elflings and a handful of veterans, whose eyes had the empty expression of those who had seen horrors beyond imagination.

"Yule approaches. We need to make preparations," he said, fiddling with his belt. "My queen wants to keep up the tradition, and I do not know... my father is not here anymore... well, I hoped for your help... your husband used to..."

He broke off. Poor child, she thought, you should be out there, playing in the snow, not standing in my chamber, lost and frightened.

"Please take a seat by the fire," Erestor's mother said, trying to sound as warm and understanding as possible. "If our queen wishes to hold a Yule feast, then I will do all I can to help you."

He looked very relieved, thanked her and took a seat. Erestor had only turned his head briefly, nodded in greeting and then returned to stare out into the dim winter evening. The two Elves sat by the fire, neither saying a word. Neither of them wanted to be the first one to say in front of the Elfling that this would be the first Yule without... them.

Erestor stared out into the darkness. He was tired, but not ready to go to sleep yet. For the umpteenth time he remembered the day when his father had left. Despite his youth he had thought that they had been terribly ill-equipped with their bows and arrows. Certainly you needed more and bigger weapons if you went to battle an evil overlord? But his father, the king and his son had looked very proud and confident.

"You must not worry for me, Erestor," Sloe had said, pulling playfully on one of his son’s thin braids. "While I am away, you need to look after you nana. Make sure that she does not dance on the table like the queen, and that none of the guards will make moo-eyes at her."

Erestor had blushed, proud of the trust his father had put in him, and then he had seen him leaving Mirkwood with the other warriors, all of them eager to fight and certain of their victory. He also remembered their return, the small handful of battered warriors. Day after day small groups had returned, and every day, Erestor's heart had become heavier when his father had never been among those who returned home.

His brain told him that his father was gone, but his heart refused to believe it. His father had to come back. It was simply not possible that the warrior would not sit in his favourite seat by the fire again, lighting his pipe and smoking the terrible weed some travelling wizard had given to him. His mother used to wrinkle her nose in disgust, pointing out that this was not Elvish custom, and his father apologised and tried to look guilty, failing miserably.

Erestor's mother was just about to address the matter of the Yule feast when suddenly her son cried out and then, without saying another word, bolted out of the door and ran down the corridor, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

"Erestor! Erestor, come back! You cannot go out at night! Take your cloak!" his mother cried, but it was very clear that Erestor did not hear her.

The young advisor went to the window and peeked out.

"There is a group of people," he said. "From the looks of it, men. Followers of Isildur, maybe."

She frowned.

"Why have the scouts not warned us? And what business do Men have in Mirkwood? I would have thought they had caused enough grief to last us at least two ages!"

Again, the youth looked lost.

"What would be the proper protocol, my lady? Do I have to greet them? Or do I have to go to the queen? She is not in a state to see anyone." He hung his head. "Oh, how I wished your husband was here, my lady."

"I think we should go out and welcome them," she said, trying to lock out his comment. "I shall accompany you, if this should be a help for you."

"Oh, it would be, my lady, very much so!" he said, his relief obvious.

Together, they walked down the corridor, and braced themselves against the cold wind before they opened one of the doors that lead outside. By now it was dark, but they could see the group of men. Twenty, maybe thirty of them. Both Elves narrowed their eyes to see more clearly, and when the figures became more visible, Erestor's mother covered her mouth with her hands.

"This cannot be," she whispered. "This..."

With eyes wide in surprise and disbelief, the two Elves stared at the approaching group. Yes, they were men, but between them walked Sloe. A battered, skinny and very tired looking Sloe, but he had still been strong enough to lift up Erestor when his son had run into him. The Elfling clung to his father, and his mother thought she had never seen such happiness as now showed on Erestor's face. All the stars in the sky would never be able to outshine the light in Erestor's eyes.

Behind Sloe, a heavy farm horse made its way unhurriedly through the snow. On his back, clinging to the thick mane so not to tumble down, was Thranduil. One of his legs and his head were covered in dirty bandages, and he looked like he had also missed more than one meal, but he was alive. There were about ten Elves, all in all, escorted back home by the rangers, who had picked up the small group of survivors along the way.

More and more Elves had come out of the Great Cave, all of them staring in silence at those who had come back though nobody had dared to hope for their return anymore.

No, this was not correct. There had been one who had never given up hope.

Erestor's mother suddenly regained control over her limbs again, and ran through the snow, falling down, crawling up again, until she finally, finally reached Sloe and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his face, his hair and Erestor, who beamed like a Yule bonfire. Sloe hugged both of them as hard as he could.

"See nana? I knew ada would return!" Erestor said, looking very proud.

"Yes, yes you knew," his mother whispered, "I wish we all had your faith, Erestor."

"My lady," one of the men next to them said, bowing his head. "We found them two days’ travel from here, camping in the snow. We were worried they would not make it by themselves, so we decided to escort them. The Elf on the horse needs a healer very urgently. He cannot walk, and if your husband had not carried him all the way through the snow, he would most likely have died."

Thranduil, who had seemed to be unconscious, stirred on the horse, and tried to sit up. His eyes focussed on Sloe, who had turned to look at him, an eyebrow arched.

"Smug bastard," Thranduil murmured. But when Sloe reached out to him with one hand, Thranduil took it, and squeezed it so hard that Sloe's bones cracked.


	3. YULETIDE TALES, DAY 2: Glorfindel Lion-heart: 3/4 - "The fierce bow-maker"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would not be Yule without a decent argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Eveiya

Getting up on Yule morning was a lengthy, complicated and altogether unpleasant procedure. First Glorfindel had to peel free of several layers of furs and blankets, then he had to roll Erestor to the side. The warrior was a dead weight on his body, and as he was still fast asleep, very difficult to manoeuvre.

Being free of furs, blankets and Erestor, Glorfindel found himself exposed to the very chilly air of their bedchamber. He shivered, and hurried to cross the room and stoke the embers in the fireplace to a warming fire.

At first, Glorfindel had been puzzled why the Elves of Mirkwood covered the ground of their homes with sand rather than stone. But he soon learned to appreciate the comfort of walking on the soft sand, which kept the warmth much better than cold stone. Not to talk about the exotic experience of making love in the sand. It was a pleasure one had to pay dearly for, though, as sand had the unpleasant habit of taking up residence in most unsuitable places.

Alas, Erestor was worth the occasional itch.

And now, his first Yule in Mirkwood! While he rekindled the fire, Glorfindel thought about the turbulent months that lay behind him. Getting to know his new home and the Elves dwelling there was like discovering a new world. So many new customs, so much to learn! And now he could not wait to see how Yule would be celebrated here. He had heard a lot about the legendary feasts in Mirkwood and King Thranduil's talents as a host. By now he knew the ruler of the Woodland Elves well enough to expect something truly extraordinary.

Over these musings, the fire had rekindled and was now radiating warmth into the chilly room. Glorfindel watched the dancing flames for a short moment, then he stood up and began to dress. He went back to the bed to check on Erestor, and found his lover still deep asleep. Glorfindel decided to let him rest a little longer, as the Yule feast would proceed well into the next morning and be very exhausting, and headed for the pool alone.

Yule was in the air. Glorfindel felt like whistling. He exchanged friendly words with every Elf he met on his way, and there was decidedly a spring in his step. To start a day in Erestor's arms was wonderful enough, but to continue it with a bath in the underground pool was bliss. Glorfindel could have drifted in the warm water for hours, losing himself in the admiration of the light's play against the rock crystals on the ceiling. More than once Erestor had to come and fetch him, chastising him with a grin that he loved prunes, but not in his bed.

Since he had found Erestor alive, Glorfindel felt like he had started a second life. While he occasionally missed Imladris, he loved Mirkwood, he loved the Elves here, and last but not least, he loved Erestor. It had not been easy, as the warrior did quarrel with his fate at times, and could get very gruff when he felt that Glorfindel was overprotective. Erestor hated being dependent on anyone, so Glorfindel had to learn to sit on his hands and not run to his lover every time he thought Erestor needed help.

Glorfindel had expected that he would be the dominant one in this relationship, the one to lead the way. It had taken him some time to realise that Erestor was blind, but still a warrior, with all his pride and strength.

No, Glorfindel thought, it was not easy, but he loved Erestor, and Erestor loved him. Life was good.

All thoughts of whistling merry tunes evaporated in a dark cloud of fear when Glorfindel entered the pool, only to find himself alone with Sloe, Thranduil's chief advisor. The greatest part of the advisor's skin that was covered with one of the intricate tattoos that the Mirkwood Elves wore as signs of their victories. The ornaments and patterns started on Sloe's neck and covered his body, ending at the ankles and wrists. Glorfindel briefly wondered if really every part of his body was covered with such ornaments, but he quickly chased this inappropriate thought away.

"Greetings, Glorfindel. What a lucky coincidence to see you here," Sloe said cheerfully.

"Yes. Very lucky. How very nice," Glorfindel muttered, and slipped quickly into the water. He did not dare to take his eyes off Sloe, who was not only a seasoned warrior and cunning advisor, but also happened to be Erestor's father.

"You seem to have adjusted well to our life here," Sloe said. "I admit that I am surprised."

Glorfindel clenched his jaws. Sloe never criticised him openly. But whatever he said could be taken two ways. Maybe Sloe really wanted to express his delight over Glorfindel's quick settlement in Mirkwood, but it was more likely that the true meaning of his words were 'I do not think you belong here, you milksop.'

In any case, Glorfindel's intention to relax in the pool was blighted.

"I did not find it overly hard to adjust, Master Sloe," Glorfindel replied. "They say that the home is where the heart is, and my heart is now here."

Sloe arched an eyebrow.

"You know, I always wondered who those 'they' were who bestow on us such pearls of wisdom." Sloe sat up in the water and shook his wet hair, sending water drops flying. "As we are here alone, let me be honest with you." He leant back, and Glorfindel took a deep breath of the sulphurous air, bracing himself for a fight.

"I have no doubts that you care deeply for my son, and for this, I am grateful," Sloe began. "But I do not think that you will be able to deal with him in the long run. He still is a warrior, even if he cannot see anymore, and he has a warrior's soul. He needs a warrior by his side, not a ... bow maker. Even if," Sloe added, bowing his head, "the bow maker has best intentions and is a master of his trade. I am certain that your skills are sorely missed in Imladris."

For a moment, Glorfindel stared at Erestor's father, not able to say a word. Then he stood up, his hands clenched into fists.

"I am well aware that I am not the one you would have preferred to see by Erestor's side, my lord. I have put up with your taunts for Erestor's sake, and because I hoped that you would come to respect me. I am very sorry to see that this is not possible. Now, with all due respect, my lord: I have heard your concerns, I pondered them and I have come to the conclusion that I do not care whether you approve of me. I am here, I will not leave, and so I suggest that you will find a way to live with this fact. Good-bye."

With that, Glorfindel the pool, face red with anger and embarrassment, leaving a dumbfounded Sloe behind.

"Ah, he has some spirit, the young one! And for once, you did not have the last word. I like that!" Thranduil commented smugly, and stepped out from the adjoined stone chamber where he had followed the conversation, unseen by Glorfindel.

"Spirit? I would rather call this a piece of impertinence, my king! How dare he speak to me in such a way?" Sloe protested, but Thranduil only shrugged.

"You asked for it, Sloe. Since Glorfindel's arrival in Mirkwood, you have not left out a single opportunity to criticise him. But I have warned you, old friend, that he is a pepper pot, and will fight for Erestor with teeth and claws. Your son is really old enough to make his own decisions, do not try to interfere."

Sloe grumbled something unintelligible, arms crossed over his chest. Thranduil crouched down, and put his hand comfortingly on the black-haired Elf's shoulder. The skin was hot to his touch.

"Warrior, scholar, bow maker - we have wargs, spiders and wild men to worry about, Sloe. Erestor is loved, what more could you ask for?"

Sloe stood up, put his hands on the stone edge and swung out of the pool with one fluid, elegant motion. He grasped his long hair and wrung it out, rivulets of water running down his back. Thranduil was oddly fascinated by the play of the light in the drops of water that clung to Sloe's skin.

"Indeed, my king - what more could I ask for," Sloe replied. He looked at Thranduil with a half amused, half sad gaze, and only when he turned to leave, the king realised that he had stared at his very naked advisor in a rather inappropriate way.

Thranduil shook his head and stood up. It was really high time for the Yule celebrations to start - he needed a drink.


	4. YULETIDE TALES, DAY 2: Glorfindel Lion-heart: 4/4 - "The puzzled advisor"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil proves to be an Elf of quick decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Eveiya

When Glorfindel returned to their chamber, he found Erestor awake.

"I understand you are angry?" Erestor asked, stretching out lazily on the large bed.

Glorfindel pulled off his wet shirt. In his hurry to leave the pool, he had not bothered to towel off.

"How can you know?" he asked. "I have not said anything."

Erestor chuckled.

"Glorfindel - unlike me, you are a very polite Elf. If you slam the door shut, then you must be very angry. So come on, tell me: was it an annoying customer? A slow-witted archer?"

"No," Glorfindel growled. "Your father."

"Uh." Erestor winced. "Anyone injured?"

Glorfindel snorted.

"No, but I told him that he should mind his own business."

Erestor chuckled. "Well, he should. But it would not be Yule without a good, loud family quarrel."

Glorfindel frowned and flopped down on the bed beside Erestor.

"I cannot find this very amusing."

Erestor sat up.

"You must understand him. My mother wished to sail west. He insisted on staying here. And as usual, none of them was willing to compromise. So she left, he stayed here, and now he is lonely. Not that he would ever admit it, of course, but it is easier for him to fret over me than fret over himself. I wish he would find someone to..."

Erestor broke off.

"But he is married!" Glorfindel protested. "Your mother... how can you say such a thing?"

The warrior reached out for Glorfindel and touched his face.

"My mother is in Valinor. My father is here. Ideals are nice, but do not keep away the cold at night."

Glorfindel stared at Erestor in disbelief.

"But the Valar said..."

"The Valar, dear Glorfindel, have no say here. The forest spirits of Mirkwood are far more lenient and understanding with the weaknesses and needs of Elven nature."

Glorfindel did not reply. He knew all too well that a further discussion would lead to a big row. The ensuing silence between them was uncomfortable, something Erestor noticed as well, and he was the one to break it.

"My apologies, Glorfindel," he said, and his hand felt for Glorfindel's. "I did not want to be harsh with you."

Glorfindel sighed.

"I know, Erestor. Your customs and beliefs here are often different from mine, but it does not necessarily mean that they are always better. Sometimes... sometimes I wonder how it is possible to love you so much when all we do is arguing."

Erestor pulled Glorfindel close, and kissed his neck.

"The secret of any relationship is hard work. My parents must have spent half of their lives arguing. Do not allow me to shut you up - fight back. I fear this is only way to get an old warrior like me to compromise."

Glorfindel rested his chin on Erestor's head.

"Maybe your ada is right. Maybe you really do need a warrior by your side."

Erestor chuckled.

"Maybe. But it might as well be possible that he is talking a lot of drivel. And now enough with the discussions, there is still some time left to get in the spirit of Yule. Let me get you out of your clothes."

Glorfindel had to learn a million of small things to deal with Erestor's blindness: do not move the furniture in the room, or Erestor will fall over it. Do put every tool back where you took it from, or Erestor cannot find it. And never close the laces of your pants with a square knot, or Erestor will not be able to open it. It had been something Glorfindel learned very quickly after a romantic evening had been ruined by Erestor's angry frustration over an unruly knot in the laces of Glorfindel's shirt.

"You are tense. Stop thinking."

Erestor's voice pulled Glorfindel out of further musings on the difficulties of living with a blind warrior.

"Then do something to distract me," Glorfindel said, shifting into a more comfortable position.

* * *

The Yule celebrations had started out innocently enough. Legolas, as his father's oldest son, had lit the Yule log, with a small chip left of the log from the previous Yule, and everybody had sung a traditional tune. Glorfindel had never heard it before, but it was beautiful, haunting, and he hummed along quite successfully. While different from Yule in Imladris, Glorfindel found the tradition innocent enough, and prepared for a quiet, peaceful feast.

However, within the hour, he had to learn that Yule in Mirkwood was not a big feast - it was a noisy, merry, frivolous madness only three naked dancers short of an orgy. The tables groaned under the weight of roasted deer, boar and pheasants. To Glorfindel's left stood a large bowl with spicy baked potatoes, to his right one with boiled wheat and mushrooms. There were corn cobs, apples were decorating the table, along with twigs of holly, and the air was heavy with the scent of hot wine and cinnamon.

The tables were set in a circle, and in the middle, Elves were dancing wildly to the music of the minstrels. Of course there had been merriment as well in Imladris on Yule Eve. But not in such an exuberant way. The heads of all the clans were present, and none of them wore shirts or boots. They showed off their tattoos, the signs of their victories. Instead of the circlets Glorfindel knew from Imladris, the nobles of Mirkwood had their hair decorated with berries and leaves. Thranduil, the wildest dancer of them all, was only distinguishable from them as he wore a crown of holly and berries. He held a tankard with hot wine, and playfully tried to catch a young lady who giggled and waved a sprig of mistletoe.

"How do you like your first Yule here so far?" Erestor asked. It took a while for Glorfindel to come up with a reply; he was still processing all the sights and smells.

"This is beyond anything I could have imagined," he finally said. "It is amazing; I had never thought... well, it is very archaic."

Erestor laughed. He also wore no shirt, and to Glorfindel, he was the most glorious sight of them all. No jewels could have been more beautiful than the chain of dried berries around his neck

"Archaic! Ah, poor beloved, stuck up with wild Elves here for all eternity!" Erestor reached out and cupped Glorfindel's face. "Or so I hope," he added.

Glorfindel knew that, had Erestor not been blind, he would now have stared at him with the intense gaze that used to turn Glorfindel's legs into jelly. He tried to avoid this gaze; the sight of his lover's blind eyes was still something he had to get used to.

"If I have a say, I shall never leave," Glorfindel said, and was rewarded with a kiss that was so passionate that he almost toppled over and fell off the chair. In Imladris, such a public display of passion would have caused quite a few raised eyebrows, but here, those sitting near them cheered.

"Erestor!" Glorfindel gasped, his head still a little light from the kiss.

Erestor laughed again, and let go of Glorfindel. Then he searched behind him for his chair and flopped back into it. He grabbled for his tankard and took a long swig of wine.

"If I was free to do as I wished to, I would now throw you on that table and have my wicked way with you, beloved," Erestor said, and grinned. "But I am afraid this will have to wait. Though Yule has a tradition of celebrating fertility and love, this would take things a little too far, even for King Thranduil's standards!"

Glorfindel's face was all flushed, and the strong wine had gone to his head. He considered Erestor's words for a moment, then he jumped up and took him by the hand, pulling Erestor to his feet.

"Celebrating fertility is not for us, but as far as love is concerned, I cannot wait any longer," he said to his surprised lover. "Come!"

Under loud cheering from the Elves to their left and right, the two hurried out of the hall, Erestor trusting Glorfindel that he would see for him and not let him fall over anything.

"Where are we going?" Erestor asked.

"Training ground" Glorfindel answered, a little out of breath, "it is close by and nobody will be there now."

Shortly after, Erestor was pulled through the entrance of the cave the Mirkwood Elves used for their weapon training, and before he could say another word, Glorfindel had thrown him to the ground and was kneeling over him.

"You really cannot wait," Erestor grinned and shifted, making Glorfindel moan.

"No, I cannot," Glorfindel hissed, and took off his shirt. He covered Erestor's body with his own, returning his beloved's passionate kiss from earlier on, and then slowly nibbled his way from Erestor's neck to his chest.

Erestor bit his lip when Glorfindel's tongue teased his nipple. He became more vocal when his lover raked his fingernails over the flat plane of Erestor's stomach. Over these last months, Glorfindel had learned what Erestor liked, and now he put all his knowledge to use.

Glorfindel made short work with the lacings on Erestor's trousers, pulled them down his long legs and threw them aside. Then he chuckled.

"Dare I ask what you find so amusing?" Erestor asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing," Glorfindel replied, running his thumb over the tip of Erestor's cock. "I just really liked your custom of 'setting the Yule log on fire'. I think I will do this as well now."

* * *

"Has someone spit in your wine, Sloe?" Thranduil asked, and smiled at his sourly looking advisor. "It is Yule - come, laugh, drink, be merry, enjoy the love of a beautiful lady!"

"At the moment, I do not care for drinking, merriment or beautiful ladies, my king," Sloe replied, a sharp frown on his brow. "I wish to be left alone."

Sloe's sometimes rather sudden changes of mood were nothing new to Thranduil. Melancholy came and went like summer rains, and he knew that his advisor would get lost in dark broodings for days to come if he could not pull him out of his mood now.

Thranduil looked around. Those Elves who had not retreated to their chambers were on the brink of being too drunk to stand. It was falling asleep here in the hall now and awaking in the morning with a terrible hangover and a mouth full of sand, or retreating to his chambers as well, and the choice was not a difficult one.

"Sloe, what you need is a glass of good wine from my special stock to chase the dark clouds away. Come, let us leave the merry tipplers to themselves and retreat for a nightcap to my chambers."

Sloe did not reply, only watched Thranduil with a very odd expression on his face. Then he nodded.

"I thank you, my king. I am wary of this feast."

The two Elves left the hall, and walked down many corridors to Thranduil's chambers without exchanging a word. Once arrived, Sloe sat in a chair by the fire, and Thranduil rummaged through a shelf in search of his best wine.

"Ah, there it is." He blew the dust from the bottle and fetched two glassed, then returned to Sloe, who was lost in his thoughts and stared in to the fire.

"My best wine, Sloe. I hope this will help you to cheer up."

Thranduil flopped down in the sand in front of Sloe's seat, and soon the bottle was open and the glasses filled. For a while, the two Elves sat in amicable silence, then Thranduil pulled a twig of holly out of his crown.

"Another Yule has passed, and yet I have not given my crown to the lady of my choice. I fear I am not a good example for my son."

Sloe shrugged.

"You could ask Legolas' mother. She would make an excellent queen."

Thranduil groaned.

"Now do not be ridiculous, Sloe. You know very well that she refused my proposal because she was in love with that scout she is living with now. I fear it is my destiny to be mentioned in the history books as the queenless-king with the many sons. I am afraid I am not the favourite with the fair ladies of Mirkwood."

Sloe could not help but smile.

"Who would have thought - when you arrived here with your parents, the ladies almost fell over each other to look after you."

Thranduil laughed.

"No doubt! I was a lovely Elfling!"

"My king, you were a terrible Elfling," Sloe said. "I remember how, on your first Yule here in Mirkwood, you pelted me with a spoon full of apple sauce."

They both chuckled, then silence fell between them again. The fire was beginning to die down, the shadows grew longer. The flickering of the flames threw strange patterns on Sloe's skin, and just like in the morning at the pool, Thranduil stared at his advisor. It was not the first time he saw the long, black hair, but now he noticed how it clung to Sloe's skin, wild and unkempt, how elegantly Sloe's long-fingered hand held the tankard.

A question came to Thranduil's mind. It was a thought full of madness, inappropriate, and it would have probably never been voiced if it had not been Yule and Thranduil had drunk so much wine.

"Are you attracted to me, Sloe?"

The moment the words had left his lips, Thranduil wished he could have taken them back. What an idiotic thing to ask! Sloe would think him to be insane.

Sloe did neither drop his tankard in shock nor jump up and demand an apology. His only reaction was the arching of an eyebrow.

"My king, you should not ask questions that you do not wish to have answered," he said after a moment of contemplation. "You expect me to say 'no', but what would you do if I said 'yes'?"

Thranduil rose, and stood in front of Sloe. For a moment, the two Elves looked at each other, each of them finding in the eyes of the other something new, strange and scary. Thranduil inclined his head, then he took off his crown and put it on Sloe's head.

He could see how Sloe's hand tightened around the tankard, the knuckles standing out all white.

"Say 'yes' and you will see, Sloe."

Sloe broke the eye-contact with Thranduil, and starred at his king's chest instead. There was the ornament for the Battle of the Last Alliance. He remembered well how he had seen his king dying, and then thought Thranduil to be dead as well. He remembered the joy when he had found the young prince injured and alive, and how heavy Thranduil had been when he carried him through the snow.

He looked up.

"I have a son, my king. So have you. We are not - like that."

Thranduil rested his hands on the back of Sloe's chair, being very close to his advisor now.

"This is not the answer to my question, Sloe. I asked: are you attracted to me?"

He could see how Sloe clenched his teeth. There came no answer, but one look into Sloe's eyes told Thranduil all he needed to know, so he kissed him.

He had not thought he would really do it, this had only been a thought crossing his mind once or twice. Actually, he expected resistance from Sloe, even hoped for it. This would have given him the chance to get out of this ridiculous situation with an apology, blaming his behaviour on the wine.

But Sloe did not resist - after a moment of frozen shock, he dropped the tankard and returned the kiss. It was a clashing of teeth and duelling of tongues, none of them was willing to submit, both trying to set the pace for this encounter. When they finally broke off, they were gasping for breath. Thranduil looked at Sloe, half aroused, half scared.

"I... did not expect Yule to end like this," he said, and shook his head.

"No, me neither, my king," Sloe replied softly.

Thranduil's heart beat hard and quick. The air was thick with heat between them, and Sloe's taste was strong on his tongue. He wanted to kiss him again.

Thranduil placed his hand on Sloe's chest. It was a small relief for him to notice that the other's heart beat just as fast. The skin was hot to his touch, and Thranduil ran his hand slowly down Sloe's body, coming to rest just above the lacings of his trousers. Sloe shifted, not sure at first whether trying to avoid the touch or seek for it. He finally made up his mind and put his hand on top of Thranduil's, squeezing it.

Again they kissed, and this time, it was a long, wild journey. Sloe's hands fisted into Thranduil's hair, pulling painfully on the golden tresses. Meanwhile, Thranduil tore the lacings of Sloe's trousers open, closing his hand without further ado around Sloe's cock. The advisor bucked, for Thranduil, though he had never done this on another Elf, showed quite some skill in bringing Sloe to orgasm. He applied just the right pressure and speed, and when he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the tip of his cock, Sloe filled Thranduil's mouth with a loud groan, spilled all over his king's hand and then sank back into the chair.

Thranduil let go, then he wiped off his hand on his trousers and took a deep breath.

"Sticky," he said.

"Indeed," Sloe gasped.

Thranduil dropped to his knees in front of Sloe, and rested his head on the other Elf's belly. It was a hard pillow - muscles and skin, not the softness of a lady's tummy.

"We will be terribly embarrassed and feel like the biggest fools ever to walk on Arda tomorrow," Sloe said, still trying to catch his breath. Then he put his hand on Thranduil's head and began to stroke his hair gently.

"Maybe," Thranduil said, "but then again: maybe not." Then he pressed a kiss just beside Sloe's navel.

* * *  
 _End of the "Glorfindel Lion-heart" Yuletide Tales. But more is to come!_


	5. YULETIDE TALES, DAY 5: How Mauburz came to Imladris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erestor and Glorfindel try to find the wee twins Elladan and Elrohir, who have been abducted. Just when they think that all has been lost, help comes from a completely unexpected side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

It was the night before Yule, but the Orc did not know this, of course. Orcs did not celebrate Yule, or the beginning of spring, or any other of the holidays everyone else in Middle-earth held sacred. For her, it was just another winter night, cold and depressing, and she pulled the fur around her neck a little higher, to cover her long chin.

Mauburz the Straggler heard the soft whimpers when she went out for a little walk outside of the camp. Mauburz used every chance to escape her fellow Orcs, whom she considered to be bad-mannered and in desperate need of a bath. This aside, she was not overly keen on the dinner, which consisted of two fat armadillos.

It was not easy being the only female Orc in a camp of two thousand. Not that anybody cared - they were probably too daft to realise the differences, anyway. There is an odd one out in every lot, so Men said, and Mauburz was the odd one in this case - she did not fit in. This night she had fled from the campfire when two of the Uruks who had joined them in the last week had began to boast how many Elves they had slain in the last battle.

Mauburz shuddered at the thought. She liked Elves. Well, all Orcs liked Elves - cooked, baked or grilled - but Mauburz liked them in a less culinary way. Not only did she refuse to eat meat - she insisted it gave her heartburn, especially grilled Dwarf - she also thought that it was rather distasteful to eat relatives. And after all, had the Orcs not once been Elves as well? Or so it was rumoured.

She thought that Elves had cute ears, and she preferred to see said ears on the side of their heads, where they belonged to, rather than hanging as trophies around some unwashed Uruk's neck. Elves looked so pretty. And they smelled nice. And they had lovely voices. Sometimes, she'd sneak up as close as she could to one of their dwellings and listened to their singing. It was a good thing none of the others knew about her weak spot - yet.

Mauburz was not a fool, she was well aware that her sudden "disappearances" when it came to battles involving Elves were noticed. As a matter of fact, she had thought about leaving the camp and running away for quite a while, but where could one single Orc go? It was not very likely that any of the people of Middle-earth would offer her shelter.

Those were her musings when she heard the odd sound. Curious to see who or what was mewling out here in the cold dark night, she began to stomp through the snow. The sound became louder, and more desperate, and she hurried up. "Now what is that?" she said to herself upon seeing the bundle beside the tree. It was a large bag made of Warg skin, the kind all Orcs used to transport - things. Often unmentionable things. Had one of her camp forgotten another armadillo? There was only one way to find out. Mauburz, not one for subtleties, did not waste time by trying to open the rope which held the bag closed. Instead, she dug her sharp claws in the skin and tore it open. Then she stared down in disbelief at the contents of the bag.

"Now you very odd armadillo!" she said, The two toddlers, dirty and with ruffled hair, blinked and looked up to her with big, fearful eyes. It took Mauburz only a moment to identify her find.

"You Elf babies! What you do here? Where is mummy Elf?" The two just stared at her. This was the most curious thing she had ever seen! They were so tiny, and they looked identical. How was this possible?

"You young, just hatched from egg." she stated, and reached out to touch one of the tiny beings. "Ouch! You bad Elfie!" she groaned when one of the Elflings bit her and moved protectively in front of the one who was probably his brother.

Now it was just like her to get in a situation like this. "Mauburz not take you to camp. Orcs think you be dinner. But Mauburz not eat Elves."

The Elflings did not understand a single word she said, of course, but they sensed that this very odd, very ugly creature did not mean them any harm. Unlike the other odd and ugly creatures who had dragged their mother away and put them in a sack. The Elflings clung to each other, searching for warmth and comfort. The one who had bit Mauburz put a tiny arm around his brother, who sniffled.

"Oh, you warrior, yes?" Mauburz said, and patted the Elfling on the head. She did so very carefully, for she did not wish to harm the child. She also did not wish for the child to harm her, because he obviously had very sharp teeth. "Fine, you warrior Elfie. I'm warrior Orc. We be good friends."

She pointed at her chest, her claw scratching on the armour. "Me Mauburz. Me nice Orc, not eat Elfies. Elfies friends, not food."

A puzzled look from the child. His brother hid his face, afraid of the Orc. Mauburz beat on her chest.

"Mauburz. Mau-burz. Like cat and birds. Mauburz. Not difficult, you try?"

The child seemed to understand. He pointed at her. "Urz! Urz!" Then he pointed at his brother, saying "Hir" and finally at himself. "Adan!" he declared proudly, and nodded.

"Hir and Adan? Were parents drunk when gave you name? Elfies are very silly."

She scratched her neck. "Now what Mauburz do with you. Can't take you to camp, they'd think you're dessert. Can't leave you here, too cold and you freeze ears off. Hm. Best thing I go and fetch warg and then we all go. Not like here, anyway."

She covered the two children with her cloak, and hurried back to the camp.

* * *

"We should make camp here, Glorfindel. You are as exhausted as me; nobody will be helped if we break down from exhaustion."

Glorfindel, who tried to shade his eyes from the snow, sighed. He knew that Erestor was right, but the thought that out there Elrond's sons might be still alive made it hard for him to agree with his friend.

"Glorfindel, please..." he heard Erestor's begging voice, and he nodded.

The two Elves descended from their horses, and began to set up camp. While Glorfindel freed the area around the trunk of a spruce, Erestor pulled down the lower branches and pinned them down in the snow. This made a simple, but effective lean-on. Once this was done, they started a fire, and began to eat their way bread.

Under different circumstances, Glorfindel would have enjoyed the opportunity to spend a couple of days alone with Erestor. He could have teased the advisor to his heart's delight, and they would have spent hours and hours of bickering and arguing. At night, he could have enjoyed the simple pleasure of watching Erestor sleep and bask in his presence. Erestor was always cold and distant with him, and Glorfindel wondered if he might have noticed Glorfindel's attraction for him.

But as things were, with Celebrían being dead and the twins lost, Glorfindel's mind was focussed solely on the destiny of Elrohir and Elladan, who were hopefully still alive and waited to be found.

"Glorfindel, do you think... do you think there is still a chance of finding them?"

The warrior took another bite of the bread, chewed it carefully and gave Erestor a sidewise glance.

"To be honest with you: no. But I have been wrong so often in my life, so who knows? I just cannot allow myself to believe that the wee ones have met the same fate as their mother. Maybe the Orcs were disturbed and did not find the time yet to..."

He broke off, unwilling to voice his terrible suspicions. Erestor understood him well - uttering it would make it more real. How often had he played with the twins, and Elladan's giggling still rang in his ears. The sweet little Elflings... it just could not be true that he would never see them again.

Glorfindel saw the pain in Erestor's eyes. He hesitated a moment, then he put his hand on Erestor's, squeezing it lightly. Erestor did not pull his hand away, but gave Glorfindel a grateful smile. If only it could have always been like that, Glorfindel thought.

For a while, they sat and ate in silence, each of them hanging on to their dark thoughts, when suddenly Glorfindel jerked up and stared out into the darkness.

"What--?" Erestor began, but Glorfindel quickly clamped his hand over the advisor's mouth.

"Shhh," he hissed, "there is someone out there! Quick, extinguish the fire!"

Hastily, the two Elves covered the fire with snow, and climbed the tree. There they sat, their knives at the ready, and waited for the unknown traveller to pass.

* * *  
"You stop pulling Mauburz hair! Bad Elfie!" Mauburz lamented, but the children she carried in a cloth on her bag found pulling on her hair far too amusing to stop the new game. The warg fought his way through the snow, the journey progressed slowly.

While the toddlers on her back seemed to be quite happy with the new situation, Mauburz was very worried. With the extra weight of the little ones, she could not ride as quickly as she would have liked to, and the snow was deep, slowing the warg down. By now her pack had certainly noticed her absence, and she could not know if they would just shrug and think her to be killed, or if they would follow her.

And then there was the problem of the destination of her journey. Where to go to? There were some settlements close by, but was it wise to leave two little Elves with Men? Mauburz was not overly fond of Men. But where to find Elves now?

Mauburz was just about to consider to camp for the night when she saw the shine of a fire. She sniffed - and smiled. Elves! There were Elves close by! Maybe scouts? In any case Elves. She drove the warg on.

"You move, stoopid warg! Very important! You go there quick, you get extra rabbit."

The warg could not have cared less for the promised extra treat, but the heel of Mauburz' boot in his side made him jump forward.

"Now that odd..." Mauburz murmured. The light had become brighter and then disappeared. Again she sniffed - smoke.

"Ah, little Elfies, there is family for you! Have heard Mauburz and hide now, me thinks. Well, will find them."

After another ten minutes, Mauburz had reached the place where Erestor and Glorfindel had made camp. She saw the extinguished fire, smelled the smoke, and combined rather quickly where she might find those who had lighted the fire in the first place.

She hopped off her warg, assuming quite correctly that the presence of the beast might scare the Elves. She shooed the warg away, and he retreated obediently.

Mauburz looked up, and was just about to call out to the Elves who hid in the tree when a tall figure dropped down in front of her and pressed a knife to her throat. She would have swallowed hard if the pressure of the cold steel had not made this impossible.

"Kill it," a cold voice behind her said.

"No, maybe it can tell us something useful. You," the Elf said, increasing the pressure, "do you speak our tongue?"

Mauburz cursed herself for being so careless. Of course the Elves would attack her, this was something she should have thought of.

"Yes," she croaked, "Mauburz speak a little your tongue. Take away knife, Mauburz not enemy. Mauburz like Elfies."

Glorfindel, for he was the one threatening Mauburz with his knife, arched an eyebrow.

"Elfies?"

"Yes, Elfies. Mauburz very much like Elfies. They nice to look at and smell nice and have funny ears."

Mauburz heard footsteps in the snow - the Elf behind her was walking past her, coming to stand beside his companion. Mauburz felt rather uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gaze of the two Elves.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurz!"

Glorfindel started, cutting Mauburz incidentally in the process, and Erestor took a step back upon hearing the cry.

"By the Valar, what is that?" Glorfindel gasped.

"Baby Elves! And you hurt Mauburz, stoopid Elf!" Mauburz groaned.

"Did it just say 'Baby Elves'?" Erestor asked.

"Yes, Mauburz did say so. What wrong with you, have grapes in ears? And not call Mauburz 'it', Mauburz is lady Orc."

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurz!"

Glorfindel decided that this odd creature that did not seem to be armed posed no danger at the moment, and lowered his knife. Mauburz reached up and touched her neck with her paw and winced.

"You stoopid Elf! Have hurt Mauburz! When all Mauburz do was helping Baby Elf!" she cried, and snarled at Glorfindel. Then her head snapped back. "Ouch! Leave hair, stoopid Elfie!"

Erestor quickly walked behind Mauburz, and stared in total bewilderment at the tiny hand that had fisted in the Orc's dark mane.

"Now this cannot be...," he said to himself, then reached out and touched the hand. Tiny fingers closed around his index finger, and a shock of dark hair, followed by a pair of curious grey eyes became visible.

"Toooooooooooooooooooooor!" the child giggled, and Erestor almost fainted.

"Glorfindel! It is one of the twins!" he screamed, and Glorfindel almost fell over his own feet in his hurry to get to Erestor and see the miracle for himself. His knife made quick work with the cloth, and the two Elves almost broke out in song and dance at the sight of Elladan and Elrohir, who were terribly dirty, but obviously unharmed.

"Yes, twins. Two Elfies, Mauburz found in woods. You know mama and papa Elf?"

Erestor took Elrohir and pressed the little one close to his chest to shelter him from the cold. Glorfindel had wrapped Elladan in his cloak. Advisor and warrior looked at each other, then Glorfindel nodded.

"Yes, we know the parents of the little ones. Now tell us, who are you, and how comes you have the children with you?"

Mauburz, who still rubbed her neck, rolled her eyes.

"You Elfies have very bad memory. As said: found baby Elfies in wood and thought: not want other Orcs eat them. So, Mauburz take baby Elfies and leave camp in middle of night, looking for home. Then see light, smell Elfies, and so Mauburz here. Not think Elfies would try kill Mauburz, if Mauburz only try to help."

Glorfindel did not know whether to cry or laugh at the sight of the obviously insulted Orc.

"You are a very odd creature, Mauburz. But we owe you eternal gratitude for rescuing the twins. Pray tell, what are we supposed to do with you now? I do not think your pack will be too happy with you now."

Mauburz wrinkled her nose.

"Not go back to pack. Stoopid Orcs, always hating and killing. Mauburz not like killing, not like fighting."

She looked hopeful at the two Elves.

"You take Mauburz with you? Mauburz strong, can do many things, very useful! Also like flowers, could look after garden!"

"Mauburz... I really do not think that Imladris would be the right place for you..." Glorfindel began, but upon seeing the disappointed expression on the Orc's face, he broke off.

Erestor studied the Orc in front of him. Well yes, it was an Orc - no, she was an Orc, and Mauburz was without a doubt one of the ugliest creatures he had ever seen, but he could sense no malice. The children were alive and uninjured. She was not an enemy.

"Glorfindel, I think we should leave this up to Lord Elrond to decide. For now, we should hurry to bring him these late Yule gifts." He smiled at Mauburz and bowed his head respectfully. "Yule gifts he will receive thanks to this kind lady."

Mauburz looked Erestor up and down. Among Elves, Lord Elrond's chief advisor was considered to be average looking. His nose was a little too long, he was of a rather unhealthy paleness, and his eyes could be cold as a pond in winter. But to Mauburz, he was the most beautiful being she had ever seen, standing there with his long black hair and the child clutched to his chest.

"Your wife very beautiful," Mauburz said to Glorfindel, "very nice wife. You must have many, many baby Elfies!"

It was neither the time nor the place for laughter, but Glorfindel, once he understood what Mauburz had been saying, laughed out loud. Erestor, however, turned brick red when Mauburz' words sunk in.

"I am a male Elf," he said with all the dignity he could muster. "I would have thought this was obvious."

"Oh? No, not obvious, you wear trousers, can't see. Well, Mauburz still think you pretty. Very sorry you not Elf-lady, you look good with baby."

"I think it is time we leave," Erestor said with an icy voice, and walked past Mauburz and Glorfindel. He could not see the admiring and longing look that followed him.

"You sad that he not lady Elf, yes?"

Glorfindel started.

"Huh?" he said, rather unintelligently.

"Mauburz said: you sad that pretty Elf with black hair not Elf lady, yes?"

Glorfindel decided that he would not discuss his unrequited and hopeless love for Erestor in the middle of the night with an Orc. So he sighed, pressed a kiss on Elrohir's head and followed Erestor to the horses.

"Stoopid Elves," Mauburz muttered, then she snuggled deeper into her furs and trotted after Glorfindel.


	6. YULETIDE TALES, DAY 6: How Mauburz met Lord Elrond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that we all know how Mauburz came to Imladris, it is time to tell the tale of her first encounter with Lord Elrond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

To say that the arrival of Erestor, Glorfindel, Mauburz and the twins in Imladris caused a stir would have been the understatement of the Age. Every Elf capable of walking rushed out on the streets to see for themselves that Elladan and Elrohir truly were alive. They cheered for Erestor and Glorfindel, but shied back from Mauburz, who rode on her warg and was too busy with looking around to notice the hostile looks.

The dwellings of the Elves surpassed even her wildest dreams in beauty. In the woods, the snow had been menacing. Here it looked like some benevolent deity had covered everything with glittering icing sugar. The houses looked so fragile with their intricately carved balconies, but yet they must have been many, many centuries old.

Mauburz was a bit worried about her future. By now she understood that she had saved the sons of an important Elven noble, Lord Elrond. He lived in Imladris as, according to Glorfindel, the wisest and kindest lord of them all. The twins had a little sister, Arwen, who was only a few months old. And the mother of the children, Lady Celebrían, had been murdered by Orcs.

Now, Mauburz was not an intellectual genius, but it seemed to be obvious even to her that an Orc would probably be the last creature on Arda that Lord Elrond wanted to see right now. Even an Orc who had saved his children. Mauburz was rather nervous about meeting the Elven lord. What if he did not wish to meet her at all? What if he threw her in a dungeon? Or had her killed?

But no. Erestor and Glorfindel had promised her that nobody would harm her, and she believed them. Both had been very kind, and she had taken a special liking to Erestor, who had shared his waybread with her. Certainly Elves did not share their waybread with Orcs they planned to kill?

They rode into a courtyard, and immediately stable hands came running to take the horses of the two Elves. But they shied back when they saw Mauburz' warg. Mauburz patted the animal's head.

"You not have worry of warg. Very nice warg. Mauburz had him since been baby warg, and while very slow, not eat Elves. Only ate dwarf once, but was accident. Had terrible heartburn! Come warg, go with nice Elfies."

The warg grunted, and trotted after a stable hand who walked slowly backwards, fear in his eyes.

"You have heard Miss Mauburz," Erestor said. "This is a friendly warg who does not eat Elves, so you should be safe as long as you do not grow a beard. Take the animal to one of the empty stables and see to it that he gets fed and looked after. He has carried Lord Elrond's son to safety, he deserves our hospitality."

The stable hand nodded and obeyed, but it was clear to see that he thought Lord Elrond's chief advisor was one candle short of a candelabrum.

"Thank you, very nice of you, nice Lord Erestor," Mauburz said, and smiled gratefully at Erestor. The Elf shuddered at the sight of the long, sharp fangs, but he quickly regained composure

"I am no lord, Miss Mauburz. I am Master Erestor, Lord Elrond's chief advisor."

"You are master? Oh, that is nice. You master of Glorfindel?" Mauburz asked curiously, and now it was Glorfindel's turn to look indignant.

"I have no master," he grumbled. "And if I had one, it would not be Erestor."

Mauburz was confused, but she did not press further on the subject. She followed Erestor and Glorfindel in the great hall, and stared open-mouthed at the beautiful furniture and the colourful tapestries. She came to stand in front of a huge painting, which showed a fierce-looking Elf holding a spear.

"That Lord Elrond?" Mauburz asked. "Looks very dangerous!"

Glorfindel shook his head.

"No, that is Gil-galad, the last High-King of the Noldor, and it would be wise not to mention him when you talk to Lord Elrond."

Mauburz scratched her head.

"No, no, will not ask. Why? Lord Elrond not like King Gil-galad?"

Erestor groaned, not only because of the question, but also because Elrohir pulled enthusiastically on his braids.

"Lord Elrond likes King Gil-galad very much, Miss Mauburz, but he is long dead, and it pains him to talk about his lost -- king."

"Looks like nice Elfie. Very long spear."

"Yes, one of the reasons Lord Elrond liked him so much," Glorfindel remarked pertly, but one look at Erestor's stern face cut further comments off.

"Please take a seat here in front of the fire, Miss Mauburz. We shall go and return Elladan and Elrohir to their father."

Mauburz nodded, and sat down in one of the carved chairs. However, as soon as Erestor and Glorfindel left, she sat down on the floor. She was not used to chairs, and did not find them very comfortable. After a while, a servant entered the hall, offering her some wine. The Elf was clearly scared, but when Mauburz made no attempts to jump up and maul him, he became daring and asked her if she wished some food as well.

The eyes of the Orc lit up.

"Oh yes, Mauburz very hungry!" she said. "You have carrots? Mauburz like carrots. Lots of carrots! And apples, apples very nice?"

The Elf stared at her in total disbelief.

"Carrots? Apples? Why... yes, we certainly have carrots and apples, but I would have thought... you know, maybe a raw rabbit...?"

Mauburz pulled a face.

"Ewww... Mauburz not like rabbit. Mauburz not like meat. Only like vegetables and fruit. So you have carrots, Mauburz happy."

A very puzzled servant hurried to get the desired food and inform the kitchen staff in every detail about the odd guest's even odder eating habits. He returned with a plate full of vegetables and fruit, and Mauburz was happily chewing on a celery stick when Erestor entered the hall and approached her.

"I see that you have been well looked after, Miss Mauburz. Would you please follow me? Lord Elrond wishes to see you."

Mauburz swallowed the last bite of celery and looked at Erestor, a little scared.

"Lord Elrond very angry with Mauburz?"

Erestor shook his head and smiled friendly at Mauburz.

"No, Lord Elrond is not angry with you, Mauburz. Do not fear, just follow me."

Mauburz nodded, and trotted after Erestor, careful not to snag her claws in the carpet. The longer they walked, the more nervous she became. How to address an Elven lord? Would she have to lie on the floor? Or bow her head? Or...

"We are here," Erestor said, and knocked on the door in front of them. He pressed down the handle and opened the door. "Just enter, Miss Mauburz."

He gave her a last encouraging smile, then Mauburz stood in an anteroom and the door closed behind her. She needed a moment to orient herself. Giggling and splashing came through a half-open door to her left, as well as a large cloud of steam. Mauburz also heard a very odd growling, deep voice. Certainly no Elf talked like this?

She was a little uncertain whether to walk further into the chamber or stay where she was when the door was pushed open fully and an Elf appeared. He was tall, broad-shouldered and had long, silver blond hair. He wore a grey tunic and black trousers, and his face was red from the heat. Mauburz had seen Elves like him, and she knew that he was one of the Galadhrim from Lórien. They were feared by Orcs for their skills as archers.

Mauburz visibly shrunk when the Elf addressed her. On each arm, he held one of the twins, wrapped in a towel.

"Urz! Urz!" one of them crowed, and waved at Mauburz. She waved back shyly, which earned her a quick smile from the Elf.

"I am Orophin," he said in that odd growling voice, "the guardian of these two. My gratitude for saving them, Miss Mauburz. Please enter the chamber, Lord Elrond is awaiting you."

Mauburz nodded, waved one last time at the children and then entered the large chamber, which was filled with books and a desk. So many books! How could anyone possibly ever read them? Mauburz, who could neither read nor write, was very intimidated in the presence of so much wisdom.

"I am over here, Miss Mauburz," a deep, melodious voice said. Mauburz turned her head, and saw the tall, lean figure standing beside Glorfindel next to the window. She crossed the room, not sure how to address the Elf she thought to be Lord Elrond, so she just stood there, fiddling with her belt.

He turned around, and Mauburz held her breath. Never before had she seen a face as fair, but yet as sad as this Elf's. His long black hair was held back in many braids, which were decorated with beads and pearls. The longish face was dominated by large, grey eyes, and Mauburz' heart contracted painfully when she saw the pain and the sadness in them. Mauburz had never had a mate, but she could imagine how terrible it must have been for Lord Elrond to lose his.

"So you have found my children," Elrond said.

Mauburz scratched her head and looked sheepish.

"Yes, were in sack. Mauburz went for walk, found sack and Elf babies and took them away."

"I see."

This was all Elrond said, and Mauburz began to feel very, very uncomfortable. Would he send her away now? She would have loved to stay in this beautiful place, but of course the noble Elf would not want to see an Orc every day, reminding him of his wife's terrible fate.

"I thank you," Elrond simply said, then bent down and pressed a kiss on Mauburz' forehead. She almost fainted and had a hard time not to fall to the floor upon this gesture. Her heart skipped a beat, and she took in a deep breath, inhaling the wonderful scents of vanilla, cinnamon, old books and horse that were so typical for Elrond. Should now one of those big tomes fall from the shelf and hit her on the head, she would die a happy Orc.

"I am indebted to you for all eternity," Elrond said. "Be my guest, stay in Imladris as long as you wish. This is your home now. Please enjoy your first Yule in Imladris."

"Thank you," Mauburz stammered, "thank you, that very nice of Lord Elrond, of nice Lord Elrond! Very nice Lord Elrond! Thank you! Mauburz very happy, loves to stay here! And you smell very nice, Lord Elrond, and have very nice ears, and..."

She broke off, completely confused, and wondered why her stomach made one somersault after another.

Elrond smiled, then he turned his back to her, hanging his head. From the way his shoulders trembled, Mauburz could tell that he was crying.

"Erestor!" Glorfindel called, then took Elrond in his arms, tucking his head under his chin. He rubbed the lord's back comfortingly, and made those soothing, nonsensical noises that had been used since the first days of Elven kind to comfort crying or scared Elflings.

Upon entering, Erestor took in the scene, and saw Glorfindel pressing a soft kiss in Elrond's hair. Only for a very brief moment he clenched his jaws, then his face was a mask of quiet and self-control again.

"Please show Miss Mauburz her quarters, Erestor. I will join you later."

Erestor nodded and gestured Mauburz to follow him. The Orc hurried to follow the Elf's large steps, and did not talk to him until they arrived in a beautiful, spacious chamber with a balcony overlooking the Bruinen.

"Oh, very beautiful, thank you!" Mauburz said, and clasped her hands.

"I am glad that you approve of it," Erestor replied, and bowed his head. "I have to leave you now, unfortunately, for I have many duties to attend, especially now, as Lord Elrond is not -- available."

"Oh, Mauburz understand. Lord Elrond very nice, and very beautiful. Lord Glorfindel very nice as well, and also very beautiful. Agree?"

If possible, Erestor became even more formal than he usually was.

"Lord Glorfindel is a very skilled warrior and an asset to this household," he said stiffly. "He is one of the greatest heroes of our people and as such deserves every respect."

Mauburz scratched her nose and gave Erestor a sly look.

"But nice Master Erestor not like nice Lord Glorfindel hugging nice Lord Elrond, eh?"

Erestor blushed, but did not reply. Instead, he arched an eyebrow.

"You Elfies very odd, always make high eyebrow when asked question that you not like! If not like other hugging Lord Glorfindel, why not hugging him yourself? Don't think Lord Glorfindel would mind."

Erestor pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Miss Mauburz, I understand that some of our customs must seem rather peculiar to you. We are all worried for Lord Elrond's well-being, as he has suffered a terrible loss. So I am not at all opposed to anything that could help lessen his pain."

Mauburz shook her head.

"But you not like other Elfies touching or kissing nice Lord Glorfindel, very clear to see! You Elves very strange! You like Lord Glorfindel, Lord Glorfindel like you, so why not like each other and be happy Elves? Very normal, very natural."

Erestor decided that now the moment had come to flee the place.

"Miss Mauburz, I have to leave. If there should be anything you need, please tell the servants. I will see later how you are doing."

With that he headed for the door, fleeing in to the corridor. Mauburz followed him, and yelled:

"Mauburz very sure Master Erestor like very much if hugged by nice Lord Glorfindel! And would like too if kissed by nice Lord Glorfindel!"

Mauburz had a voice which had the quality and sound level of an Orc horn, and so most of the Elves in the Last Homely House had the pleasure of hearing her statements.

And Erestor threw himself into his scrolls and letters and documents to keep himself from thinking how Glorfindel's lips would feel on his, and how nice it would be if the warrior would hold him the way he had held Elrond.

Well, maybe next Yule.


	7. YULETIDE TALES, DAY 7: The fading king

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the 7th day of Yule, Estel decided it was time to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

Rúmil stood by the window and took in a deep breath of the cold winher air. Lothlórien was scented with Yule. There was laughter in the air, merriment, and behind him, his wife and son were decorating the Yule tree. It was a wonderful, peaceful evening, and of course he could count on his wife to ruin the mood.

"Estel is ill. We will leave for Minas Tirith," Galadriel said, and cut off the thread which she had used to fix a gold-painted apple to the Yule tree. She might as well have said "the cookies are in the oven" or "the weather is nice." Celon, her oldest son, looked at her with big eyes, while Rúmil, being used to his wife's ways, neither asked why nor what, but "When?"

"Tomorrow," she replied.

"Very well, I will ask the Eagles for their help."

"Thank you, my beloved." Galadriel pressed a soft kiss on Rúmil's cheek. "I knew I could count on you."

"Of course you can. And while I am at it, I will see to it that we will have a crane to lift you onto the Eagle, my dear."

Galadriel, heavily pregnant with their second child, bestowed a scathing look on her husband. Alas, after 115 years of marriage, scathing looks and disapproving glares bounced off the lord of Lothlórien like water off a duck's back.

"May I come with you as well, nana? Ada? I am old enough, and I do not want to be alone on Yule," Celon said. Galadriel and Rúmil looked at each other, then Rúmil nodded.

"You may. Just make sure you are out of the way when your mother gets sick on the Eagle."

Galadriel poked her tongue at Rúmil, Rúmil poked his tongue at Galadriel, and Celon, not for the first time, thought to himself that his parents were rather silly for a lord and a lady.

* * *  
Arwen's grief had been so strong that Galadriel had been able to feel it in Lothlórien. Her pain had been like a grey shadow covering her soul, and now, that the Eagles landed outside the gates of Minas Tirith, sadness and pain towered in front of her like a thick wall.

"You were right, nana," Celon said, "something is amiss here."

"Of course I am right," Galadriel replied, while Celon and Rúmil helped her descend the eagle. It was a complicated undertaking, for her pregnancy was already very much advanced.

"Your nana is always right. Even if she is not. That is one of the eternal laws of Lothlórien," Rúmil said, and winked at this son.

Galadriel whacked him playfully on the head.

The two soldiers guarding the gates of the White City bowed deeply when they recognised their noble visitors, and one of them offered immediately to lead the Elves to the palace. A brief look at Galadriel's bulging stomach let the man correctly assume that there was no way the lady would be able to walk up the seven levels to the palace, and so he went to fetch some means of transportation.

"I wonder why those silly Eagles did not land near the Citadel... I hope he will find something to transport nana," Celon worried, and his father nodded.

"With a bit of luck, they have a Mumak over left from the last battle," Rúmil said, "that would be the least we would need to move her."

Galadriel's mood did not improve in the least when she found herself on the back of a scruffy donkey cart. This would give Rúmil monition for teasing to last at least two Ages! So much for the impeccable manners of the men of Númenor...

Nobody could be seen on the usually busy streets of Minas Tirith. The market, buzzing with life on her last visit, lay abandoned and not even cats or dogs roamed the streets. Nothing resembled the merry Yule spirits they had found in Lothlórien, no decoration could be seen - it was as if Yule would not happen this year.

The whole city seemed to be petrified. My worst fears must be true then, Galadriel thought, and her heart grew heavy with sadness.

Celon, about as discreet and diplomatic as his father, tapped the shoulder of the soldier who led the donkey.

"Pray tell, my friend, how are things with the king? Is he going to die?"

The sad look in the man's face was answer enough. He nodded.

"Yes, young master. You've come at the right time; we fear he'll not live to see Yule. He handed over the Winged Crown to his son, and now he lies in his bed, surrounded by his family. It's terrible. Such a fine, wise king he was."

Rúmil and Celon looked in shock at Galadriel, whose face showed neither grief nor surprise, but grim determination.

"So it has come to pass," Galadriel said. "I am glad that I did not let my condition hold me back from coming here."

Father and son looked at each other. They knew that Galadriel was able to know and see things nobody else could, but they were mostly left in darkness about her thoughts. They also knew out of many years of experience that it was fruitless to ask. Galadriel would share her knowledge when she felt it was right to do so, and not a moment earlier.

When the small caravan finally arrived in front of the palace, the guards outside snapped to attention. The Elves thanked the soldier, who returned to his duty, and soon enough they saw Elboron approaching them. Dark shadows were under the man's eyes, and the lines in his face were far too deep for one of is age. The son of Faramir and Éowyn had lost his parents only a few years ago, and now his mentor and good friend was about to leave Arda as well.

"Well met, my lady and lords," he said, and bowed his head in greeting. "I am so very glad that you have come. Our dear queen is grieving, and has expressed many times that she misses her kin very much."

The steward of Gondor lead the way up many stairs, through long corridors, deep into the palace, until finally, they stood in front of a large door. Many of Gondor's dignitaries were waiting here to learn about the state of their king, but they immediately stepped aside when they saw the Elves approaching.

Elboron opened the door, and the small group entered a dark bedroom. The curtains were pulled close, and Celon wrinkled his nose at the scent of medicine in the air. Galadriel felt the urge to tear down the drapes and let air and sun in this room. This was like burying the king when he was still alive!

Eldarion and his sisters stood at the foot side of the large bed. When they noticed the visitors, they all came to hug their great-grandmother, her husband and their son, but it was a silent greeting, lacking all the happiness of previous family reunions.

Arwen did not stand up. She sat beside Estel, holding his hand. Once in a while, she bent over the still figure in the bed and pressed a kiss on the dry lips. She did not seem to notice the visitors, nor the family gathered in the royal bedchamber. All through the years, Estel had been the front and centre of her life; all her thoughts and emotions had revolved around him. Now, in his last hours on Arda, she did not only have to come to terms with the fact that her lover, her best friend, her dearly beloved husband, the father of her children and the companion of so many years would be gone forever.

She also did not have the comfort of a reunion in the afterlife, for his way was not hers, and what happened to mortals after their death only Eru knew.

Her children were all grown up, with families of their own. Eldarion would be a wise and just king, just like his father. Her work here was done. She would wait for her last relatives to sail West, and once the last Elf had left Lothlórien, she would return to the abandoned Golden Wood, lay down under a mallorn tree and fade away.

"You look pale, my lovely child," she suddenly heard her grandmother's voice. Surprised, Arwen looked up.

"Grand-nana!" she sobbed, and fell gratefully into Galadriel's comforting hug.

"There, there, no tears, my little one. I am here now, and I will see to it that everything comes to a good end."

Arwen cried on her shoulder. All the tears she had held back these last weeks for her family's sake were now flowing, and soon Galadriel's robe was soaked with tears and snot. The lady of Lothlórien had to smile, despite the sad occasion. For grandparents, their grandchildren would always stay Elflings, no matter how old they were. And quite obviously, grandchildren would never be too old to snot on robes.

When she felt that Arwen was calming and her sobbing died down, Galadriel pulled free of her granddaughter. Even with blurry eyes and a red nose Arwen was beautiful. What had Estel been thinking? Decide that now was the moment for him to die, after only a hundred years of marriage?

"Arwen, I want you to take the family, including the two I have brought along, and leave me and your husband alone for a short while. Go and have a Yule feast ordered worthy of a king, and send your children out to find a Yule tree. I want this place decorated for a merry holiday."

Arwen stared at her grandmother as if Galadriel had suddenly sprouted a second head.

"But grand-nana... I do not wish to leave him alone, I want to be here when he... when..." she sniffled, but Galadriel stroked her hair and gave her a reassuring smile.

"You have my word that Estel will not leave this world while you are away. Now go, child. Do as I you were told. This matter does not allow any delay."

"You have heard your grandmother. Now out, out, all of you, I am dying to see your latest needlework, Arwen," Rúmil said, and pulled a face.

There was no point trying to defy the united forces of Galadriel and Rúmil. Within a short time, Galadriel was alone with Estel.

She sat for a while and watched him. Still a handsome man, maybe now even more so than in his youth. The haunted expression on his face which she had known all through his young years was gone. He looked peaceful, healthy and he had also gained a few pounds here and there. But it suited him, and nobody expected the king to look for all eternity like he had in his Ranger days.

"Very well then," Galadriel finally said, got up and stretched. She rubbed the small of her back and groaned. Having children was great, but being pregnant was not. Even the most graceful of Elven ladies began to resemble cave trolls in the later stages of the pregnancy, and Galadriel was vain enough to loath looking into her mirror in the morning. Not a pretty sight! And all Rúmil's fault!

Well, at least she would have a daughter this time. Finally! How she had longed for having a little girl again all these centuries!

But she was not here to muse about her appearance or her future daughter. Galadriel went to the nearest window and pulled the heavy velvet curtains aside. A thick cloud of dust emerged from the drapes, and she had to sneeze. Quickly, she opened the window and took a deep breath of fresh air.

"Much better. I do not understand the mortal's needs of locking themselves away from sun and air in such a way," she said, and turned to Estel, who lay still, pale and silent in his bed.

Galadriel clapped her hands.

"Estel, it is time to get up," she said cheerfully.

No reaction from the man. She clapped again, and when this did not excite any reaction, she sat on the bedside and poked him in the shoulder.

Slowly, with great effort, Estel opened his eyes. It took a while for him to focus on his visitor, but when he realised who was sitting with him, he opened his mouth in surprise.

"Galadriel..." he whispered.

"Indeed. I am glad to see that some wit is left in this thick skull of yours. Now enough with the drama. Get out of that bed and dressed. You have caused enough grief to your family already. It is Yule. The feast is waiting."

Estel's eyes got wide upon hearing these words.

"Galadriel... I am... dying..." he protested with a weak voice.

Galadriel snorted.

"Nonsense. Nobody is going to die around here. What madness got into you, Estel? A man in his best age, lying down to die? Leaving his wife behind with no hope and comfort? Enough, I say! Get up now!"

Estel, who had already felt his soul pass over to the other world, managed to sit up. Galadriel went to the cupboard and gathered some clothes which she carried over to the bed.

"Here. Pull in your stomach and it should fit. I give you five minutes to get decent."

The king held the tunic in his hands, his face one big question mark.

"Galadriel - I am dying!" he said, his voice now clearer and rather insulted.

"No. You are not. No dying. No tomb. No last service. No weeping widow. You will sail West with Arwen within a fortnight, and I am sure my granddaughter would be grateful if you will wear something else but your nightshirt for this occasion."

Galadriel stepped closer to the bed, and pointed at Estel with her index finger.

"You, my dear Estel, set your heart on making my granddaughter your wife. You insisted. None of Celeborn's tantrums held you back. You did not fear my wrath. You moved the skies and Elrond's heart to get her, and now that you have her, you will keep her. No quick escape after only a hundred years of marriage! Marriages are forever and ten days! So get up now, get dressed and face the next Ages like a man!"

She turned around, and heard with great satisfaction how Estel, all of a sudden rather awake, slipped in his clothes. When she heard him lace his tunic, she faced him again.

"Why?" he asked, "Why am I not dying? Why did I feel like my last hour had come, and now I feel so - alive again?"

Galadriel shrugged.

"Imagination, my dear friend, is an amazing thing. How many have died because they were convinced their hour had come? And how many lived because they ignored the fact that, by all rules and laws, they should be dead?"

She stroked the bulge of her stomach.

"Life is a precious gift. See, the Valar offered to grant me one wish if I returned the Ring of Death to them."

Estel looked at her questioningly.

"I admit that my first impulse was to wish for the return of my daughter", Galadriel continued. "I would have given anything to hold my child in my arms once more. But we should not dwell on the past, rather try to improve the future. So I asked them to allow you into Valinor, to live with Arwen for all eternity among those who you have known and loved in your life."

The king's legs gave in, and he sat back on the bed.

"Does this mean... that I'm immortal?" he whispered.

"Indeed."

Estel shook his head.

"Galadriel, the last time mortals aimed for immortality, it ended in a really big mess."

She shrugged.

"You are not telling me anything new here, Estel. I have been there myself, and trust me, I would not wish to see history repeat itself. But considering that this is a gift from the Valar, I think it is safe to say that you sailing to Valinor will not end in a big war, ruined cities, stolen jewels and kinslaying. And now go, your wife and your children are waiting for you."

For a moment, Estel did not move. But then he jumped up, hugged Galadriel very tight and pressed a firm kiss on her cheek before he dashed out of the door. There was silence first, followed by a multi-voiced cheer which made the whole palace tremble.

Galadriel grinned. This journey had been a success, no doubt! Once more, she rubbed the small of her back, then she waddled towards the door. More than anything else she longed to return to the safety of the Golden Wood. There had been enough adventures to last her for at least two more Ages; and what she needed now was a very good foot massage.

How thoughtful of Rúmil to accompany her.


	8. YULETIDE TALES, DAY 8: An Elf of many talents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little boy that Orophin, Feronil and Melpomaen brought to Imladris needs a family. One thing is clear, at least from Eldanar's side: it will not be his family!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

"You seem to be in dire need of a cordial, my dear," Galadriel said. Nellas nodded enthusiastically. She wiped off the snow on the other side of the lawn seat and sat down beside Galadriel.

"Indeed," Nellas sighed, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ears. The renowned artist looked exhausted, and from time to time her nose twitched nervously. "This has been the third sitting with Lord Feronil, and I am not certain I will survive a fourth."

Galadriel laughed.

"Oh, Feronil! Ah, his bark is worse than his bite. Was he rude? Insulting? Or did he tell you embarrassing and salacious anecdotes about his last visit to Lothlórien?"

Nellas shook her head.

"No, I could live with that. But after three hours of his self-aggrandizing and ego-stroking, I was close to stabbing him with my paint brush. How Lindir manages to bear him is beyond me."

Galadriel searched in a pocket of her robe and pulled out a small silver flask which she offered to Nellas.

"Here, take a swig or two from this. It is a wonderful elixir from Lothlórien which will help you regain your strength."

"You are very generous, my lady," Nellas said, and bowed her head in gratitude. Then she unplugged the flask and took a healthy swig.

It was as if she had swallowed fire. The liquid burned in her throat, her nose began to run and her eyes became all watery. Nellas coughed and wheezed, and Galadriel patted her back helpfully.

"This... this is... alcohol!" Nellas groaned. Galadriel, who was patting her helpfully on the back, nodded.

"Of course it is. Milk or water would not have kept me on my feet through the Ages. There, there... see? You will feel much better, trust me."

Nellas very much doubted that, but she was too polite to oppose. After another bout of coughing and taking in a deep gulp of air, she regained her composure and returned the flask to Galadriel.

"Thank you, my lady. I feel much better now."

Galadriel winked at Nellas.

"This little gift of the Valar has helped me in many critical situations," she said," maybe you should take a bottle of the draught with you for the next sitting."

The artist laughed.

"I might, though artists should keep a clear head. But as long as I do not see him double..."

Galadriel chuckled.

"I would say the one head he has is big enough as it is already, we should not overdo it and give him two. So, my dear, I have to leave you and see after Rúmil. He is persistent in trying to escape the House of Healing, and very much annoys all those who have to work there. I only hope Elrond did not really tie him down."

Nellas looked a little worried.

"So he is doing better then? I am very glad to hear that."

"Indeed," Galadriel replied, "he has recovered remarkably quickly. He is still feeling dizzy, but I cannot tell whether this is from his injuries or from learning that Celeborn is his father."

Nellas scratched behind her ear with a quill.

"With all due respect, my lady: such a revelation would have shocked me as well! Since I have come to Imladris, I have discovered new and complicated family relations almost daily! There is Master Erestor, who is the father of Melpomaen. Rúmil, who is the son of Lord Celeborn. Elcallon being the brother of Orophin. Good grief, my lady, this makes even my head spin!"

Galadriel laughed and clapped her hands.

"Oh, this might be the liquor, my dear! But you are right, it is complicated. Maybe it is best to follow Glorfindel's advice: hear nothing, see nothing, speak nothing and get drunk."

She stood up, waved Nellas good-bye and headed for the House of Healing to see after her beloved warrior.

* * *  
The painting was almost finished, and Feronil was very happy with it. What an inspired idea! Not surprising as it had been his. Without a doubt Lindir would be delighted. Who would not upon receiving a life-sized painting of Feronil in his ceremonial robes? Ah, purple really was his colour.

A dopey smile appeared on Feronil's face. He really was a delight to look at, he decided. No Elf in Imladris, and possibly all of Middle-earth surpassed him in beauty, charm, wit and intelligence. Agreed, Elrond was very wise, and Lindir very fair, but only he, Feronil, combined all desirable attributes in one perfect Elf.

A knock on the door pulled Feronil out of his self-admiration.

"Feronil, please hurry up, the meeting will start any moment!" Orophin called from outside.

"Only fools and peasants hurry up," Feronil grumbled. "An Elf with style merely increases his speed."

But as Lord Elrond was rather stern when it came to punctionality, Feronil nevertheless hurried up and joined Orophin on his way to the council chamber.

* * *

The courtyard was alive with Elflings who were in the middle of a snowball fight. The large Yule tree, decorated the day before by Haldir, Orophin and, due to Rúmil's injury, Elrohir, sparkled in the winter sun, and the laughter of the children added to the overall Yule-spirit. Haldir would have enjoyed it more, though, if it had not been his duty to watch over the children this afternoon.

Haldir ducked, but still the snowball hit him right in the face. It was the third, and while he admired Eldanar's marksmanship, he would have preferred not being his favourite target.

He wiped the snow off his face and shook his head.

"Eldanar, I would really appreciate it if you could --"

The sentence was cut off by the impact of another snowball coming from behind, and the giggle to go with it told Haldir that Estorel had been the culprit.

"You rascals!" he cried. "I will tell your adas what--"

Another snowball, this time from the side. Much to Haldir's displeasure, the thrower had been Bramble.

"Oh Valar, help me," he groaned, "Why do always I have to be the one to look after the Elflings!"

Haldir had learned in his long life as a warrior that attack was the best defense, so he knelt down and began forming snowballs. Soon enough, there was laughter and yelling and the occasional yelp, for Haldir's marksmanship was excellent.

One child did not participate in the fun, and Eldanar was the first to notice. While the children of Imladris pelted each other with snowballs or built snow Elves, Alandel, formerly known as "lice-boy" and brought to Imladris only a few weeks ago, stood aside and looked shyly at the playing Elflings. He was wrapped up in many layers of warm clothing, and a bright red scarf was slung around his neck.

Responsible for his outfit was Orophin, who had offered to look after the little boy until a family could be found for him. Elladan and Orophin would have loved to take the boy up themselves, but their plan had met the bitter, vocal and determined resistance of Eldanar, who had not the slightest intention of sharing his parents.

Under normal circumstances, Orophin would not have allowed his son to blackmail him into a decision, but he agreed with Elrohir that Alandel needed a lot of love, time and attention. Love was not the issue, but time and attention were. The boy had to learn the language of the Elves, needed medical care, had to learn such simple tasks like brushing his teeth and closing buttons. And Eldanar, despite being such an open, happy Elfling now, still had issues from his former sad days, and needed all their love and attention.

So another solution had to be found, and this finding process, so Eldanar correctly concluded, was the reason why Alandel stood alone and sad in the snow. As the threat of a possible competitor for his parents' love was thwarted, Eldanar had readily offered Alandel his friendship and taken him under his wings, as he was the only child in Imladris who spoke Alandel's language.

Eldanar threw one last snowball at Haldir, then he trudged through the snow to Alandel.

"Don't you want to play with us?" Eldanar asked, and Alandel looked around, as if it was not possible that Eldanar had talked to him.

"Do you mean me?" he asked, and stared at Eldanar with big eyes.

"Of course I meanted you," Eldanar replied, rolling his eyes. "Don't always look so scared, I'm not going to eat you!"

Alandel risked a shy smile, then his gaze wandered to the Last Homely House and he sighed deeply. Eldanar turned his head to see what Alandel was gazing at.

"Oh, the meeting! Don't be scared, they will find you the bestest of all families. With a nice nana who will tuck you in at night, and a nice ada who will read you bedtime tales. Not as nice as my ada, of course, because I have the bestest of all adas, but grand-ada Elrond will make sure you will have a nice family."

Alandel was still very confused about the complicated family relations in Imladris. Eldanar was an Elf, but he did not have pointed ears. Orophin, Alandel's great hero, was married to Lord Elrond's son, which was very odd. Alandel had never heard of two males being married, but as Orophin could do no wrong in his eyes, he quickly accepted the matter, which was by far not the most confusing in Imladris.

For Alandel, being in Imladris was like living in a dream. Everyone was friendly with him, he had enough food, could wear nice, clean clothes, nobody expected him to carry heavy buckets of water all day long, and nobody threatened to hit him. The children had been very welcoming and played with him though they could not understand what he said, and Orophin had promised him that he would get a dog for himself once he had learned how to write the names of all his friends in Imladris.

The boy had put on some weight and was blossoming under the Elves' loving care like a flower in the sun. And now he would have his own family! A real family, with parents and maybe even siblings?

"Do you think someone wants me?" Alandel asked anxiously.

Eldanar hugged the younger boy.

"Of course! A lot of families will want you! And you will have the nicest of all parents, just wait and see!" he declared enthusiastically.

Alandel bit his lip. Nobody was as nice as Orophin and Feronil, his great heroes, but well, a water-boy could not be choosy, and he was very grateful for all the kindness he had experienced. The little boy looked up to the windows of the council chamber and sighed again. If only they would decide quickly!

* * *

"I think we come to a quicker decision if we name those families who cannot take the little one," Elrond said, and all present nodded. Glorfindel studied the paper in front of him and frowned.

"Very well. Orophin and Elrohir have already stated that they cannot take Alandel, which is very unfortunate. Erestor and I cannot take him, either."

Erestor, holding tiny Lórindol in his arms, looked at Glorfindel gratefully. As much as he liked the little boy, and though he really wanted to help him, he would simply not have been able to cope with another child to look after. Estorel had turned into quite a wild thing these last months, the Plains Elf heritage shining through more and more by the day, and new-born Lórindol needed all the attention he had.

Glorfindel smiled at Erestor, then he returned his attention to the sheet in front of him.

"Three families have offered to take Alandel, and they are all very kind and loving people who would look after him wonderfully. Talking about looking after: how is Alandel's chamber coming along, Feronil?"

The advisor, who had sat with a frown and arms crossed over his chest, started and looked around. It had been a surprise for everyone when Feronil had insisted that he would be the one watching over the renovation of Alandel's chamber, which used to be a study and had not been used for many years. For the moment, Alandel shared a room with Eldanar, which, considering Eldanar's enthusiasm for telling scary tales, was not the best of all arrangements.

Feronil cleared his throat and gave Glorfindel his most arrogant look.

"It goes without saying that Alandel's chamber will be the best-equipped and most tastefully decorated in the Last Homely House, with exception of my own chambers, of course. Indeed, I dare say it is a great piece of luck for young lice-boy that it is I who supervises the work. Elegance, combined with functionality - in other words: perfection."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes, and secretly, he pitied poor Alandel who would have to live in a nightmare of velvet, plush and draperies.

"Good, good," Lord Elrond said, and tapped his fingers on the table. "So we have to make a decision among those three families, I understand? Well, I suggest you introduce them to us, Glorfindel, and we shall come to a decision."

Glorfindel began to introduce the families, but was rudely interrupted by Feronil who stood up and pushed back his chair.

"I have some work to do," he said, "and I do not see what my presence here can help in this matter. It is boring, and I do not have any dealings with those families, anyway. As far as I am concerned, you can throw dice to decide this. Do I have leave to go, Lord Elrond?"

Elrond, immune to Feronil's outrageous manners after many centuries of working with the advisor, nodded and waved him off.

"Go then if you must, Feronil. Just please do it without further noise and commotion."

Feronil nodded briefly, then he hurried out of the door.

"One wonders what important work is waiting for him," grumbled Orophin. "Probably his tailor waiting with his 345787th robe."

Glorfindel cackled, and Elrond hid a grin as well, then he coughed lightly.

"Please let us return to our task, dear friends," he said. "A family has to be found for Alandel. Please continue with your list, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel opened his mouth to do as he was asked to, but Erestor interrupted him.

"Lórindol just wet his nappies and ruined my robe, so I have to go and change him. But if I may share my thoughts on this matter: we do not have to discuss this at length. I, for one, know perfectly well what family Alandel belongs to. So if you are willing to follow my advise, my son can have dry nappies very shortly and you can go to prepare for the Yule feast. So?"

All eyes were on Erestor, and then he shared his suggestion.

* * *

Feronil pulled out the key he wore on a chain around his neck, and carefully opened the door to the chamber which would soon be Alandel's. After the basic work had been done, all craftsmen and servants had been banned from the room, and Feronil had worked his magic. Day after day he had carried bags and boxes into the chamber, locked the door behind him, and had turned the chamber into a haven for a child. Feronil's family had been very poor, and he remembered well what he had dreamt of when he had been an Elfling. For Alandel, those dreams should come true.

The chamber was sunny and airy, the walls colourful, and all the furniture was crafted beautifully, decorated with carved animals. The shelves were filled with toys and books, and in the wardrobe, clothes of the finest and most expensive clothes waited for the boy to wear them.

Feronil looked around. The chamber looked perfect; all was there that the boy would need. The advisor had never been overly fond of Men. Hearing about the boy's fate and seeing the small, skinny, miserable figure for the first time had cemented his opinion. How could any being with a heart treat a child in such a way? Upon thinking that the little one had carried heavy buckets of water for years, that he had never had enough food, not even a name, and that nobody had loved him, a hot, hard ball of anger formed in Feronil's stomach. Yes, his family had been poor, and yes, there had been nights when he and his siblings had to go to bed without a night meal, but their parents had always loved them, and this had made everything bearable.

Well. Whatever family would take Alandel, they had better look after the boy in a way Feronil approved, for he had every intention of keeping a close eye on them and supervising all goings-on in Alandel's new home.

He pulled out his handkerchief and began to polish the shelf to his right.

* * *

"Oh, look, there comes Master Erestor!" Eldanar cried, and pulled on Alandel's sleeve. The boy stared at the tall, tark Elf with big eyes. He was a bit scared by Erestor, who seemed to be nice enough, but he was so tall and dark and - well, maybe it was just because he was so serious. Glorfindel laughed more often and made jokes; it was easy for everyone to get along with him. But there always seemed to be an invisible wall around Erestor.

Now, however, Erestor was smiling, and the tiny Elfling in his arms, wrapped in furs, made the Elf look less scary. Alandel resisted his first impulse of running away; instead he pulled his cap deeper into his face and chewed his lips.

"Ah, here you are, young Alandel. I have come to bring you to your new family. Are you ready?"

Alandel was not ready in the least, but he nodded automatically. Erestor saw the fear in the boy's eyes, and so he crouched down in the snow, balancing the baby, and took one of Alandel's small hands. It was ice-cold, and Erestor rubbed it gently between his long fingers.

"You must trust me, little one. We all want you to be safe and happy, and we have found the perfect family for you. Will you follow me? Will you give them a chance?"

Alandel saw that Erestor was not half as scary as he had thought, and that his eyes were not black, but dark brown, and that the tall Elf looked at him with great warmth. He nodded. "I will," he panted.

"Wonderful! Here, take my hand, I will lead the way," Erestor said. Alandel took a firm hold of Erestor's hand, and then trotted beside the advisor towards the Last Homely House and into a new part of his life.

* * *

All shelves had been polished twice over now, the books rearranged, and Feronil had even opened all drawers to see if really everything was where it should be. Not even for a pedantic Elf like him was anything left to do, so he finally put his handkerchief back in his pocket and he straightened up. He was just about to leave and hear the decision of the council when a knock on the door started him.

Feronil quickly turned towards the door, surprised about the disturbance. Who knew that he was here? Pretending to be absent was no option, the one outside must have heard him walk around. So Feronil took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Erestor?" he asked, and then his surprised gaze wandered from his fellow advisor to the boy by his hand.

"What are you doing here?" he asked arrogantly. "Do you not have nappies to change or baby buttocks to powder or Balrog-slayers to feed?"

Erestor rolled his eyes.

"The Balrog-slayer feeds himself, thank you for asking. As a matter of fact, I have come here to return your son to you, Feronil."

Feronil made a very odd, squeaking sound, and Erestor returned his attention to Alandel.

"We have discussed the matter, Alandel, and came to the decision that the best Elf for you to stay with would be Feronil. Do you agree with this? If you rather not stay here, you may say so, for we do not wish to impose a decision on you that might make you unhappy."

Alandel's eyes became big like saucers.

"You mean - you mean I can stay with Feronil? Forever? Really?"

Erestor nodded. "Yes, if this is your wish, you may."

Feronil narrowed his eyes.

"I assume nobody is asking whether this decision imposed on me makes me unhappy?"

Erestor arched an eyebrow and wrinkled his nose.

"Your assumption is correct. And now stop pretending that this is not what you have wanted all the way. And if you should not be a textbook example of a loving father for the child, I will make sure that your duties will involve dozens of crying infants, a lot of nappy-changing and powdering of buttocks."

He turned to Alandel and gave him an encouraging smile, then he left the brand new family to itself, closing the door behind him.

For a moment, the boy and the Elf stared at each other. Feronil had no idea what to say or do, his head was spinning and he did not know whether to cry or laugh about the fact that his dearest and most secret wish had been granted.

"This - this is your chamber," he finally said, making a helpless, swiping gesture.

"This? All of this? For me?"

Alandel could not believe it. He stared at the shelves and the soft blue carpet, the large bed with the carved horse-heads and the beautiful pictures on the wall. This should be for him? Forever?

But this was not the most important question for Alandel. He looked at Feronil, who stood so tall above him, and the boy shuffled his feet.

"And - is it true what Master Erestor said? Are you my father now like Orophin is Eldanar's father? Will we decorate a tree and will you read me stories? And give me cake and tell me off and... and.... and..."

This was where Alandel's ideas about the duties of a father, based almost exclusively on Eldanar's colourful tales, ended.

Feronil crouched down and looked at the boy. Thoughts were racing through his mind, and they were not all of the kindest. Children were bad-mannered and obnoxious. Having a child would mess up his perfectly organised life, would fill it with ink blotches and dirt stains, with noise and trouble. Could he live with that? And what would Lindir say?

Lice-boy. Who would have thought?

"Yes, I will," Feronil finally said, and opened his arms. The child all but flew into them, and clung to Feronil like a leech. The advisor hugged the boy close and kissed his hair.

After all, nobody could see them, and this aside, he really loved him.


End file.
